


Collision Course

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Series: Fictober 2019 [7]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Friends to Lovers, It's only a matter of time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: "I think we've been careening towards this for a while."Written for day 7 of the Fictober 2019 Challenge on Tumblr: "No, and that's final."





	Collision Course

He raises an eyebrow at her.

She shakes her head in a tiny negative.

Militia soldiers and scouts pass between them, the guard details exchanging and the patrols heading out. They never speak, simply remaining side by side.

Louis lands on the railing between them, chirping loudly. Hawthorne pulls a piece of dried meat from her belt. “Catch, birdbrain,” She calls, hefting it high in the air. He darts after it with a powerful beat of wings. It doesn’t make it very far, the peregrine snatching it out of the air above their heads with sharp talons and taking to the barn to enjoy his prize.

“Hawthorne.”

Her eyes slide to the side, regarding him. “No, and that’s final.” After a while, when everyone leaves earshot, she says, “I don’t know what got into us in the first place.”

“You know.”

“What?”

“I think we’ve been careening towards this,” He casts a funny glance to the side, eyebrows making all the micromovements his mouth doesn’t. “For a while,” He finishes.

“So I’m just supposed to do what? Pretend like this isn’t-” She scoffs, pushing him back when he steps toward her. “I don’t do people. Why do you think I was out here, exactly? I sure as hell wasn’t planning on all this,” She gestures around them, her eye roll colossal.

“It’s not meant to be anything-”

“That’s just the thing, isn’t it?” She snaps back, stepping into the rickety barn from the overhang, careful to keep her voice down lest she draw Shaxx’s attention. “I’m just a blip in your ridiculously long lifespan. Bit of a turnoff.”

“Hawthorne.”

“I get you’re very clearly starving for someone to understand you. I do,” She says, with brevity. “But this isn’t…” She shakes her head, and that vulnerability glows in her dark eyes. “It won’t be me.”

She doesn’t allow him to indicate that perhaps she’s not the only one who might have considered this an uncanny attachment.

-/

“No.”

“Okay, okay.”

“We’re both very clearly drunk,” Zavala says, a mockery of his usual togetherness, leaning toward her. Her eyes are out of focus, and there’s froth from her beer that lingers on her upper lip. He licks his watching the tiny bubbles around her lip line and she smirks, wickedly. “It’s a horrible idea. Sober us would hate it,” He tells her.

“But drunk me is all about it,” She argues, finally swiping them away with the back of her hand.

“No.” He resists the urge to spell the word for her, and instead waves down the bartender. “Get the lady another drink.”

“Ugh. What lady do you see, Commander?”

Zavala swivels on the barstool. It’s a terrible idea, as the room lurches. “You. And since I like you more than I care to admit, I will not do something you will regret. You’re fragile.”

“Eh-hec-scuse me?” She stutters, momentarily stunned sober.

“You put on a tough act-”

“Whoa, no, absolutely not.” Shaxx bellows over his shoulder. “Who left this man unattended near the bar?” The Commander blinks up at Shaxx. “Seriously!” He bellows at the rest of the establishment. “He was clearly assigned a watcher. What. Happened?”

Hawthorne gestures over to the sloshed Guardian in the corner, draped over the table. “He outdrank them a while ago,” She informs the Crucible handler, with the beginnings of a slur. “On purpose.”

“You said you wouldn’t oust me,” Zavala all but pouts. Shaxx can only shake his head and watch this trainwreck unfold.

“Yeah, before you called me ‘fragile.’” She looks at Shaxx. “Take him off my hands, would you?” She asks, grumbling under her breath, “Knew I should have stayed at the Farm.”

She pretends not to notice Zavala arguing with Shaxx about how he needs to ‘fix things’ while he drags him out of the Blustery Brew and the chaos that is their Red War victory party. It’s much easier than pretending he’s not right.

-/

He’s pacing, all but wearing a hole in the floor. She takes a step into the room without knocking, shutting the door behind her.

“Talk to me.”

He doesn’t for several minutes. She lingers against the door, exuding that sniper’s patience of hers.

“I don’t know where to begin,” He finally caves.

“You were gone for two weeks.” She doesn’t move, but her stance eases. “It’s weird here, without you.”

“Have you heard of the Warmind Rasputin?”

She waits for him to turn and hold his gaze. “You mean scary space grandpa who’s got a mind of his own?”

“He could wipe us off the map in an instant. The City. The EDZ. All of it. In an instant. Gone. And he’s awake and-”

He’s half rage and half unrestrained anxiety and so she, a flighty fellow anxiety-riddled creature is just the right type of soothing. She steps in front of him and grabs him by each elbow with enough force to be grounding. “Okay, is that something we’re in immediate danger of?”

“No. It’s under control for now.”

“So, what happened on Mars?”

“How did you-” She runs a finger across his armor and holds up the red dust on her finger for him to see. “Ah.”

“You haven’t slept since before you left.”

“Have you ever tried to commune with a Warmind?”

“I talk to you, don’t I?”

“Very funny.”

“You’re welcome. I’m hilarious. Is the immediate threat dealt with?”

He looks down at her. “Yes.”

She nods, almost imperceptibly. “The loose ends delegated to the appropriate teams?”

“Yes.”

“Your shift tonight covered?”

“I-”

Hawthorne smirks, that sarcastic streak ever apparent. “Relax. I got that one. Cayde owes me a favor and I collected.” Tilting her head, she drops her hands from his elbows to his palms. “I happen to know a pretty good late night joint-”

He gestures to his dusty armor. “I’m not really in the right attire.”

“-that delivers to my place. I have a shower,” She dips her head. “Assuming your Ghost can get you a change of clothes?”

“Oh.”

They stare at each other.

"Yeah," She hedges, almost biting her lip. Taking a chance.

Zavala squeezes their combined hands. “Okay.”

Suraya smiles. “Okay.”


End file.
